Against the Grain
by egyouppt
Summary: It's all messed up enough without him trying to over-analyze it. Because he can't even pinpoint when she became such a pivotal part of his life and he figures it's not really worth the effort to try. Puck/Rachel


**A/N:** _Just as a heads up, yes this a Puck/Rachel story. If that's not your thing or you're not open to it or my interpretation of it, then you don't have to read this._

_If you do read this, I hope you enjoy it. I'm trying to branch out of my comfort zone a little and explore what I can do in writing. Let me know what you think. Huge thanks to tjcrowfoot for all her feedback during the grueling process of writing this oneshot._

_Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from Glee or any of its affiliates._

* * *

She doesn't know when or where or _how_ it happened, but she and Noah are _friends._ Or they at least aren't _not friends._

He knows Rachel still has her thing for Finn and he guess he still has feelings for Quinn, but Puck has already resigned himself to the fact that that shit isn't happening any time soon, so he always just ends up hanging around with Rachel instead.

They both figure it started when they realized each of them have a lot to vent about in their lives. So when she babbles on about musical injustices and Judy Garland and whatever the hell else she talks about, he half-listens to her, thinking about how hot she would be if she would just shut the hell up for five minutes!

And she listens with a (mostly) non-judgmental ear when he rants about football practice and how Quinn always leaves him hanging. It's like a system, she thinks. A symbiotic sync in which both of them find something in each other that they don't or can't find in others.

Like now. He's sitting on her living room floor, his back against the couch, watching her pace around like the crazy-ass that she is. And it surprises him, but he's grinning 'cause it's _so_ funny watching her work herself into a frenzy like this.

"I really thought I would _finally_ have a date to the prom this year!" she's saying. "But Finn hasn't asked because I suppose he has a lot on his mind. And while Jacob Ben Israel asked me, I declined because nothing short of the chance to perform with Ms. Barbra Streisand would ever persuade me to attend a prom with him." She throws her arms up in the air in aggravation. "And I mean honestly—Noah?" she asks, looking at him and noting the way his lips are pursed; he's probably not even listening!

"You can be my date if you want," he says absently. Wait. _What?_ And he has no goddamn idea what in the _hell_ possesses him to say that. But her eyes do that girl thing where they go all soft and glowy and shit or whatever. So it's not like he can take it back.

"Really?" She smiles, more than a little surprised that he'd offered.

He shrugs. "Sure."

"I'd love to!" She goes back to pacing, only this time it's in excitement, as she goes on and on and _on_ about dresses and blah blah blah. Right.

It might be okay anyway, he tells himself. Besides, at least if someone spikes the punch, he's got a guaranteed safe ride home 'cause he knows Berry doesn't approve of "despicable underage drinking practices" and won't "partake in them." So it's a good enough deal. And all in all, she's really not _that_ bad. And he's kidding himself if he says he isn't fucking _riveted_ to see what she's gonna wear. There are a lot of looks Rachel can probably rock, but he has a feeling this one might end up being one of his favorites. Not that he thinks of her looks all that often. Are you crazy? Yeah, he's made a _few_ casual observations, but he's a straight dude. So that's that, you mofo. Whatever.

Rachel knows she's talking animatedly and Noah has most likely tuned her out, but for once, it doesn't really bother her. Sure, Noah wasn't who she was planning to go with, but what with their sort-of friendship, she's delighted that he'd asked. And okay, so he didn't really _ask,_ and it almost seems as if he's just doing her a favor. But she's just going to ignore that because _she has a date._ And, oh, they have so much planning to do!

* * *

He never _means_ to spend so much time with her. It just happens. A lot. Whether they're just bullshitting in the choir room after glee rehearsal or he's over at her house educating her (in vain) about Call of Duty. Or she's standing in front of his dresser and showing him this new number she's come up with or they're sitting on this bench on the elementary school playground. It's sort of become "their place." Which makes no fucking sense because why the fuck to they need a space? They aren't chicks. Well, _she_ is and maybe she's like really hot, too, but the point is _he's_ not a chick so why the fuck does he need some special place to sit and talk about feelings and shit?

Oh, right. 'Cause it's fucking Rachel and she's nuts, but they're friends or whatever so they talk. And she likes it here, says it gives her a feeling of serenity or whatever. And yes, he _does_ know what that word means because actually, he's _not _a complete dumbass, thanks. He sighs and looks around. When the fuck did Ohio get so many trees? And what the hell is wrong with his brain?

"Does she ever tell you what she wants?" Rachel asks softly.

Puck turns to look at her pointedly. "Who?" But he knows who.

She rolls her eyes. If he wants to be a typical _boy_, too concerned with his machismo to talk about anything besides Mario Brothers or sports, then fine. She doesn't really know why she wants to hear what he has to say anyway. Maybe since not every other sentence that comes from his mouth is an insult to her anymore .And really, it's quite a fine mouth. But it isn't like she dwells on that much; she's allowed to notice small details. Being observant is a useful trait in any profession.

So she changes her question. "Do you ever ask _yourself_ what _you_ want?"

He arches an eyebrow. "No. What, you think I'm fucking schizo or something? The fuck?" He frowns. 'Cause what the hell is she even talking about? And even if he somehow _does_ end up crazy, it's not like he can just ask himself what it is that he wants and expect an answer. He has no fucking idea what he wants and he's pretty sure it doesn't even matter at this point.

She reprimands him about his use of "offensive and vulgar language." He grunts noncommittally because it's not like he's gonna stop talking like he does and he knows she doesn't expect him to. But she's Rachel and she's always making a point out of everything. He supposes she hasn't figured out yet that some things just _don't_ have a point. Doesn't make them meaningless, though he often finds that those are the things he hates talking about the most.

"Do you ever wonder if what you tell yourself you want is what you _really_ want?"

He groans. "Why the hell do you ask so many fucking questions, Berry? Doesn't your brain ever fucking get tired?" Jesus, she never shuts up. It's not really a _bad_ thing and he's kinda gotten used to it over the weeks or the months or however-longs. But sometimes it's still too much and he can practically hear the gears constantly churning in her head. And it gives him a fucking headache.

All the time. She doesn't say that though, she just looks toward the sky, kicking her feet a little. Because even though he's trying to be harsh and off-putting, she understands. Because she doesn't always know what it is exactly that _she_ wants either. She just never admits that to anyone.

He glances up and notices that the sun is about to set. Looks like he wasted another perfectly good afternoon just screwing around with Rachel (and not _that _way—though he really wouldn't object if she'd let him get _that_ way). But funnily enough, it doesn't seem like he's really wasted anything except an opportunity to tell her that sometimes he thinks about her at the strangest times and he has less than no idea why. But then he thinks all hell would probably break loose if he tells her that and there isn't enough alcohol in the _world_ to make him deal with Rachel Berry after _that_ conversation. He knows she's way different from Quinn. But he's used to being berated constantly and shit like that doesn't just magically go away. Not for people like him. Plus, she probably still wants Finn because he's what everyone always ends up wanting. Fuck, he needs to stop thinking so much. She's having a _terrible_ influence on him. So why the fuck does he kind of like it?

* * *

He doesn't really know why the fuck he's doing this. Maybe because he feels like he owes her for putting up with all his shit. Maybe because he just wants to see how she reacts. It's not a date, he assures himself. No fucking way would he take Rachel on a date. Sure, they're friends or as close to being friends as they can get and all that shit, but there are only so many things he can take. And waiting for an hour for her to get dressed isn't one of them.

"Rachel!" he calls up the stairs. "Hurry the fuck up. We don't actually have all night." Damn girls and their stupid need to look a certain way all damn the time bullshit.

She comes out of her room and stands at the top of the staircase, dressed only in a (really fucking short) robe. And what if maybe his jeans suddenly feel tighter and his heart beats a little faster? So sue him. Or better yet, get the fuck out of his head. Jesus. "Damn it," he says. "You're still not dressed? What the hell's the matter with you?"

Rachel glowers at him. "I don't know what to wear!" She's been trying on everything in her wardrobe for almost two hours and nothing seemed right. Granted, his instructions of appropriate attire were frustratingly vague ("Jesus, just wear something hot, okay?") But hot according to whose definition? She really has no idea why she's putting so much thought into this; it's certainly not as if he's taking her on a date. It surprises her that she might like the idea of going on a date with him, so she pushes that thought away and once again focuses on the problem at hand.

He smirks. "You can just wear nothing." And his eyes hold this suggestive glint because holy shit, if she decides to wear nothing, he sure as hell isn't gonna be the one to stop her. 'Cause shit, have you seen those legs? Pure fucking gold. He groans inwardly. This kind of thinking is only gonna lead to trouble.

She throws her hands up in disgust. "You are _ridiculous._ I'm being serious here!" Her eyes are big and round and he thinks maybe he could get lost in them. But fuck, that's dangerous thinking too so he has to leave it alone.

And he fixes the smirk back in place. "So am I," he says casually, leaning against the railing.

Rachel huffs, annoyed at his apparent nonchalance in regard to her attire. She's trying really hard to maybe do this the right way for once because she's grateful for the bit of friendship he offers her. And of course, here he is, leering at her and being obnoxiously being crude. Typical. "Would it _kill_ you, Noah, to behave like a civilized person instead of a juvenile delinquent every once in a while?"

He gives her a one-shouldered shrug. "It might," he tells her. "Come on, I was joking anyway." But not really. "Take it as a compliment. You gotta live a little, Rachel. You can't just walk around with a stick shoved up your ass all the time."

Her face kind of scrunches up a little and she does that pouting thing that he subconsciously thinks is actually sorta sexy. But he can tell she's, like, _pissed._ Which is probably okay, too. He can deal with feisty. "Can it, Puckerman!" she warns. "Before I shove a stick up _your_—" She stops immediately, horrified at what she almost just said, and claps a hand over her mouth. It doesn't surprise her that she can feel heat rising to her cheeks. She is _not_ thrilled at his ability to fire her up so easily! (Okay, well maybe just a tad, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him).

And he tries, fucking really, but he can't help it. He bursts out laughing. This night is gonna be fucking _great._

She stomps back up the stairs and he's still laughing his ass off. This is a moment to remember, he thinks. For sure.

He hadn't done a stellar (oh shit what kinda word is _that?_) job planning, but he figures it'll all go smoothly enough, regardless. When she finally comes down the stairs again, this time actually dressed, he can barely keep his eyes from popping out of their fucking sockets.

"Is this _suitable?_" She asks sharply.

He swallows thickly and nods. "Damn," he mutters. "You look _fucking_ smokin' Berry."

She smirks and Pucks takes a minute to ask himself if he's created a monster. Well, he supposes he can deal with that. Well, he can if she'll ever let him tap that.

He follows her out of the house and to his truck, laughing at how she's having trouble climbing in without giving him a glimpse of her panties.

He doesn't help her.

She finally accomplishes her mission, huffing at the fact that Noah couldn't be bothered to go the gentlemanly route _once_ in his life. But then she immediately feels bad for thinking that because he's actually been civil (well, as civil as he'll allow himself to be) towards her, if not affectionate. When he gets in on the drivers' side and she feels his eyes lazily sweeping over her again, instead of launching into a rant about being objectified, she only smiles. She doesn't mind looking her best. Especially for him. And she'd picked this outfit on purpose, to be honest, just to see if it would drive him a little crazy. And it seems to be working.

He realizes as he pulls into the parking lot that this is probably the most chick-like thing he's _ever_ done. But she's already taken note of where they are, so he can't lie and say he's just stopping here to turn around since he took the wrong left. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as she jumps out and stares happily at the sign that reads "Neil Armstrong Planetarium" here in Wapakoneta. What a stupid fucking name for a town, he thinks. He actually googled planetariums near Lima and this one had looked it would appeal to Rachel. And so far, his instincts are proving to be correct. Damn straight.

"Noah, this is _lovely!_" And then what does she do? She takes his goddamn hand! How's he supposed to convince himself that is isn't a date when she's holding his hand and touching him and stuff? Well, fuck. But since she's happy and he actually really _likes_ the contact, he doesn't tell her to keep her hands to herself.

He's actually not nearly as bored as he thought he'd be. Would he rather be somewhere sexing it up? Totally. But he's fine enough and she's all into it, so it's whatever. And she's sort of leaning against him, so he can smell her and holy fuck, she smells _delicious._ And so he turns his head a little and notices that it's actually, like, _pretty_ in here. And then he thinks fuck he could have totally taken her to look at _real_ stars, though he doesn't know jack shit about them and these people do. And he can't show her all the constellations within an hour and it's not like he really knows any of them anyway, so actually this maybe was his best bet, regardless.

When it's over and he drives her back to her house, he means to just drop her off and speed away. Instead, he asks a question (cause obviously his brain just isn't right at the moment and he'll have to deal with that later). "Sooo…what'dja think?"

"I had a spectacular time," she tells him honestly. "It was beautiful." Her voice goes a little softer so he has to strain to hear her. "Thank you for taking me. I hope you enjoyed yourself, too."

He shrugs because that's just how he is, but then he nods. "It was cool enough." She smiles in that wide and radiant way she has and gets out of his truck. Puck watches as she opens her front door and turns back to offer him a brief wave before going inside. And even though she's already gone, he waves back.

* * *

He doesn't see her much at school that day, which sort of bums him out, but it's not like he should have a reason to feel that way, so he pushes the thought aside. It's actually sort of alarming that that even crosses his mind. They're just friends, if that. So what if they hang out almost every day? What if she tends to be the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep? Doesn't mean anything. It can't. Because that would mean the universe is just fucked up. Like, fucked to hell.

But he's still a badass and all those hot pieces of ass still want him, so the world can't be _that_ messed up. Why is he even still thinking about this? What, is he some kind of damn _girl_ now? Next thing he knows, he'll probably be throwing tea parties and deciding which lipsticks match his shoes best. Christ. Before he can dwell on it anymore, the doorbell rings (thank God) and he's never been more grateful to hear that stupid fucking buzzing in his whole life.

Until he opens the door and there she is, smiling so wide he's pretty sure her mouth might get stuck like that. Jesus, what the fuck is she doing here? She can't just be popping in and showing up right when he's thinking about her. Then again, the problem is that he spends _way_ too much time thinking about her. He's really gotta work on that. This shit ain't healthy. And it's not good for his reputation. Fucking Berry always making everyone buttfuck the status quo and turn shit into _what it could be._ Damn it.

"Happy birthday, Noah!" she says brightly. He blinks. What the hell? He'd never told her today is his birthday. Fuck, is she going all stalker-chick on him? Sure, he kind of likes that she's aggressive and yeah, it was pretty damn hot. But he doesn't need stalker-Berry because that's even more messed up than his current situation. He sighs inwardly, but there's still a small (fucking huge) part of him that's glad to see her, which is stupid. But he'll deal with that later and focuses on trying to keep himself from staring at her. Fucking midget with her impossibly long, perfect legs. It's not his fault he sometimes wonders if he'll always be this good at controlling himself.

But she can tell from the look on his face that he's wondering how she knows, so she answers the silent question. "Finn was mentioning earlier that today is your birthday. I thought it only appropriate that I express my best wishes." Her face suddenly turns serious. "How come you didn't tell me yourself, Noah?"

He ushers her in and half-slams the door closed before stuffing his hands into his jeans. "I didn't see how it mattered either way," he tells her. It's sort of true. And sort of not. 'Cause he knows if he'd told her, she would act just like she is right now. And the fact that he kinda wants her to is bullshit, so he'd decided it would be better to just not bring it up. He rolls his eyes. Figures she would find out anyway. He really doesn't need her comin' round and giving him all these _feelings_ and shit.

She frowns a little, concerned at the blankness in his voice, but then decides to just push on to the reason for her visit. "Well, I got you something anyway." Half-truth. She'd gotten him some_things._ She hopes it's okay. She doesn't know if they're at a stage in their relationship (in the broadest sense of the word) where it is appropriate to get each other gifts. But no time the like the present to find out. She looks up at him.

Subconsciously, he knows he smiled a little. Like, a genuine no bullshit smile, which is fucked up and pansy-like. But he does it before he can shut it down and fucking _damn her_ for catching it. 'Cause now he can't tell her no thanks and kick her out like he knows he should. "Oh yeah? You gonna take off that coat and be naked underneath?" The predatory Puckzilla smile stretches over his lips.

Rachel's face heats up, but instead of ranting like she knows he's expecting, she plays his game. She fiddles with the buttons of her coat. "In your dreams, Puckerman," she says before pushing past him and walking to the kitchen.

He stares after her, his jaw pretty much hitting the floor. What. The. Fuck? And okay, so maybe he _has_ dreamed it. Once (a week). What is she playing at? Damn it. She always gets all hot and unpredictable at the _most_ inopportune moments. That shit's gotta be corrected. Otherwise, she might be the fucking death of him. And he just won't tolerate that 'cause if he dies, he's dying a fucking badass hero. End of story.

He walks into the kitchen and sees her holding a small wrapped box. In his experience, small boxes meant jewelry. So what the fuck is this? He defaults back to joking. "What, Berry? You get me a fucking engagement ring or something?" He doesn't miss the way she falters a little before she pounds into him.

She's doing that pacing thing again with her hips sashaying all around and fuck him if he's paying more attention to that than what she's actually saying. "I came here to offer you a present and all you do is make jokes? What if I actually put some effort into this gift? Obviously, I made a mistake in coming here, so I'll just get out of your way." She turns to leave.

And fuck. Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_ him 'cause he grabs her arm and says "Hey, wait!" instead of laughing and watching her walk out. She looks at him and he can tell her eyes are a little watery. Shit. He needs to not do this to her and _needs_ to not care when he does. "I'm sorry." And he actually is, but he'd sure as hell not gonna think about _that._ "Seriously, it's a…it's a nice thought. Thanks for coming." He squirms awkwardly and lets go of her, leaving the choice up to her.

Rachel's face softens and she smiles again, holding out the box. He takes it and she watches him with interest. She notes the way his eyes look a little warmer for a brief second as he takes the gift and the way his lips purse when he shakes it. She rolls her eyes. "Aren't you going to open it?" She fiddles with the hem of her sweater.

He gives her a dry look before taking the top off the meticulously-wrapped box. Leave it to Rachel Berry to gift-wrap his birthday present like he's some old granny. He sighs. Lifting out the item, he stares. "What is this?" Well, he knows what it is. And it's fucking awesome. But how could she have possibly known he'd been wanting one? He reconsiders the stalker theory briefly before she speaks.

"I wasn't sure what to get you, so I dropped by the guitar center and asked an associate what a suitable gift would be. I didn't explicitly know what he was talking about, but he made it seem like a spider capo would be the best way to go. I wasn't sure if you had one already, but I've never seen you play with one. If you don't like it, I can just take it back, I guess. I didn't mean—"

"Berry!" he interjects, cracking up. "Shut up. This is fucking boss. I'm so gonna own that mofo in the jazz band who thinks he's a better player than me with this thing." He doesn't know why, doesn't think about why, but he envelopes her in his arm and probably squishes the life outta her. "You're a fucking bamf, Rachel. You know that?" he says as he releases her.

"I have no idea what that means," she says a little breathlessly. "But you're welcome. I'm glad you like it—"

"I fucking love it!"

"But I also got you something else." She looks around his kitchen nervously.

Puck's brow furrows and he sets the capo on the counter. "You got me _two_ things, Berry? What, you finally you want this or something?" He flexes his arms and realizes she's about to start getting huffy again. Fuck, why are chicks always so damn _emotional?_ Fucking vulnerabilities. "I'm joking," he says, trying to put her at ease. It works. A little.

She takes out another small box. This shit is starting to scare him. What's up with her? He opens this one and can't help the damn little smile that forces itself on his mouth (though he knows it's wrong wrong _wrong_ to be so affected by a girl—especially when that girl is Berry, for Christ's sake). He dumps it in his hand and just kinda stares at it for a minute before looking at her, searching her eyes with his.

"It doesn't have a particular use," she tells him quietly. "I suppose you can just set it somewhere or carry it around. Anyway. I figured since you like to bring up the fact that we're both Jewish, I would get you something representative of that." It's a little Star of David pendant or charm or…thing and coming from anyone else, he would laugh and say he's not a fucking girl, why the hell does he need this. But for some reason, it seems right and everything, so he's still sorta smiling (which he needs to _stop _doing). "Anyway," she goes on, "I had it inscribed. I don't know how familiar you are with Yiddish, but it says khaver." She looks up at him with dark, shiny, half-hooded eyes. "It's the word for friend." She bites her bottom lip and Puck thinks fuck, _he'd_ like to bite her bottom lip. "You've been a great friend to me, Noah. I didn't know how else to tell you thank you."

Well, _he_ can think of a few ways, but most of them involve her on her knees in front of him or gasping and writhing underneath him. Wait. Hold up. _What?_ Did he totally just admit that to himself? Like, for real? Fuck. His brain is seriously wired wrong 'cause _fuck_ he wants all up on that. Sexy little crazyfuck. Jesus. No way. And he definitely can't _say_ any of that shit to Rachel. So what now? He has to give up the Puck stuff and just be Noah. Figures. Fuckin' A. "Babe, this is totally cool. And my nana will be so proud." He pockets the charm and pats his thigh. "Thank you." And he's actually all sincere and she can tell, which makes him sound like a pussy, but she's smiling. So that makes it like half of a really really small number okay. Ish.

So then what does she do? She pulls a challah pan out of her bag. That's right. A fucking _challah pan. From her bag._ He stares at her. "Well, I remembered that time I promised to bring you a loaf next time I baked some. But then I figured since I was coming over here, we could just make it together…" She looks up at him and he can tell she's a little embarrassed and his first thought is that he wishes it wasn't so cute. And he _never_ uses words like fucking _cute._ Shit, where have his balls gone?

Rachel's found that she's grown quite attached to Noah since they've formed this odd sort of friendship. She likes being around him, even though he's moody and insatiable. It worries her a little because she's never imagined herself with anyone besides Finn; at least not to this extent. But Finn still says he likes her a lot, but he just _can't_ right now. And she understands, at least a little bit. He's been through a lot and after everything they've done to each other, she wants to respect his wishes. So instead of chasing after him like she would have before, they keep their distance. They're still friends…she thinks. But it's not like it used to be.

What unsettles her most is that it doesn't feel like she's just…settling for Noah. She's come to care for him more than she ever thought possible. And even though he's rough around the edges, there's a real person underneath. One who can see the beauty and meaning in a lot of things, even if he'll never admit it out loud. And she can appreciate it because she thinks they balance each other out. She with her penchant for vocalizing her plethora of feelings and he with his need to keep his heart and feelings protected, buried deep inside. They both keep each other from going off the deep end; she coaxes the humanity in him to the surface and he keeps her from going postal on all the people who don't even _try_ to understand her.

She's not sure when it hit her that bringing over ingredients to bake challah would be one of her finest ideas, and even though he thinks it's weird, he doesn't say no. Instead, he takes the pan from her and sets it on the counter and asks what they'll need to mix the dough. And maybe he's only doing it to humor her, but since she can remember that there was a time when he didn't care enough to even do that, she's grateful for this.

And she's determined to make this her best loaf of challah _ever._

* * *

"We're friends, right?" she asks him.

He sighs. "Yeah, Berry. We're…friends." Why does that word sound so bitter? Some small part of his subconscious whispers that it's because he doesn't want to be just _friends_ with her, not really. But he ignores it and instead pays more attention to the hangnail he's been picking at for the last ten minutes.

"Okay, thank you." And she goes back to writing whatever it is that she's writing.

He leans back against her headboard. "What the fuck for?" he wonders. What the hell is she talking about?

She glances up at him and flashes him a small smile. "For admitting it."

He grins because only she would ask a question just to see his answer. And then he realizes that holy shit he really _did_ just admit it. And that's a little surreal and messed up, but too late now. He finds that he doesn't mind so much. Instead of responding to that, though, he asks, "What are you writing over there? Epic smut? 'cause if you are, I totally call being the dom."

Her cheeks flush so red, he thinks they might actually burn right off her face. He laughs. She clears her throat and looks up. "No, _Noah,_ I'm working on an arrangement for a number I want to show Mr. Schue by the end of the week. I must say, it's _brilliant._"

He arches a brow. "Yeah? Let's see it."

She shakes her head fervently. "No, it isn't completed yet."

He snorts. "Uh huh. I'm sure that's it. I told you you were writing porn." He plays with one of the knickknacks on her bedside table, tossing it up in the air while she's not paying attention. "Just lemme read it when you're done. I'll tell you if that's how it actually works or not."

And now the blush stretches across her whole face to the tips of her ears before she mutters darkly, "You're disgusting."

He just smirks because he can tell she loves it. He guesses he's got her just as bad as she's got him. So it evens the playing field a little. So score.

* * *

Puck is pretty sure he's lost his goddamn mind. Get a load of this. He's hanging around his locker, looking through his shit so it looks like he's doing something. He has another non-date with Rachel tonight and it's been on his mind all day (which is fucking messed up enough in itself) and then voila. Reveal that he's gone fucking batshit crazy. Observe.

Santana walks up to him, being all sexy and sultry and purrs in his ear that her parents aren't home tonight. "It's been a while," she breathes into his ear huskily. And he knows he's gonna say yes because he hasn't gotten any in way too long-ass of a time and that shit just doesn't fly with him. And okay he feels kinda bad for ditching Berry, but she'll live. Besides, he's confident that he can find a way to make it up to her.

But when he gets ready to accept Santana's invitation, what comes out is "I'm busy." And then he's just walking down the hallway before he comes to a halt. What the fuck just happened?

That's when he realizes he must be insane. 'Cause he's acting as a fucking cockblocker. _To himself._ What the _fuck_ is this shit? It's because of Rachel? What the fuck? They aren't even dating! They aren't anything! Or if they are, he sure as hell doesn't know and isn't gonna put a label on it. This shit is messed up enough without him trying to over-analyze it. Plus it all kind of scares him. Not in the pussy way, you asshole, 'cause he's anything but a pussy. But, like, he just doesn't _get it._ She's fucking Rachel Berry. He can't even pinpoint when she became such a pivotal part of his life and he figures it's not really worth the effort to try.

He smiles a little to himself. He'll just make Rachel pay for preventing him from getting laid. Fucking solid. Head full of (mostly—unfortunately—impossible ideas) he makes his way to his car. She's not gonna know what hit her. He revs the engine.

* * *

He actually does end up taking her to prom. And surprisingly enough, he has an okay time, even all cramped up in his stupid tux. And holy _fuck_ she looks good. Okay understatement of the century. She looks like a fucking _goddess._ Hudson is a fucking idiot for giving her up. It's getting harder and harder to not just lean over and start attacking her lips with his. He's even (almost) stopped trying to convince himself that it's wrong.

They dance and he bitches about it just for form. 'Cause he's kinda given up caring about what think about him—and the fact that he's been spending so much time with Rachel.

So now he's dropping her off at her house, but before she can get out of the truck, he figures, _fuck it._ And he pulls her face towards his, waiting for her to cut his balls off.

She doesn't. She's been anticipating (and honestly, hoping for) this moment. And his lips feel so warm and…and.._right_ on hers that she doesn't second guess it; she just goes with the flow. She follows the movements of his tongue and shivers when his teeth tug at her bottom lip.

This is fucking awesome! He _knew_ she's just as into him. He grins against her when she wraps her hands around the back of his neck and draws him closer. And he finds himself unable to get enough of the way she tastes. All warm and sweet with some sort of undertone of smoky that he's unable to resist. She mewls when he kisses down her neck and again when he stops to run his tongue along her collar bone. Shit, he's wanted to do that _forever._ And he has to admit it's even better in real life than it is in his fantasies (which is saying something cause he has a killer imagination).

He doesn't know what he expects her to say when she pulls away, but it isn't, "I've been waiting _weeks_ for you to do that."

His heart nearly jumps out of chest and his eyes might even go wide. If it were any other girl, he would say something along the lines of "I knew it" or "you're not the first." But he almost can't believe it, so he has no idea what to say. So he doesn't say anything and just kisses her again. And when she moans his name against his neck, he knows he's gotta get outta there ASAP before he tries to force something she doesn't want onto her. Because as pansy as it is, he cares about her too much to press his luck.

"Baby, you gotta get inside before your dads kill me." She giggles, pecks his cheek and reaches for the handle of the door. "Oh," adds just before she jumps out. "I'm kinda considering you as my girlfriend now. Just in case you wanted in on the loop."

She smiles. "Thanks for telling me," she says. "But in return, I'm going to start considering you my boyfriend."

"Works for me," he says without hesitation. She blows him a kiss and saunters up the stairs of her front porch and into her house. And he has the minute to appreciate the way that dress shows off her ass in that _perfect_ way before his head slams against the steering wheel. Rachel Berry is his girlfriend. Fuck, he's gonna be _so_ pussy-whipped. He wishes it bothered him more. He thinks she must have mind-warped him because why else would he be okay with willingly handing over his own balls? Fuckin' chicks, man.

* * *

Finn is seriously an _idiot._ But hey if the dude can never make up his mind and get up on anything with Rachel, Puck will leave him well enough alone about it because he's managed to snatch Berry. He'd given Quinn more than enough time. And she was crazy in a completely different way than Rachel; a lot less tolerable way. Quinn is cool enough, but he's kidding himself if he's not disappointed about her decision when it comes to their baby. And so it's harder to face her.

And Rachel doesn't make him feel as ridiculous as Quinn does…or did, anyway. They haven't seen a lot of each other lately. He thinks she's probably laughing at him for getting all tangled up in Berry's wiles, and sure sometimes he curses himself for that, but in all honesty, it's all good. He has this connection or whatever with Rachel and they just spend afternoons exploring it (and making out). It's funny because people always ask him how long 'til he fucks it all up by fucking someone else and he just smirks. 'Cause he really has no intentions of screwing around with anyone else. And if his morals or whatever prevented him from doing so _before_ he started dating Berry, he sure as hell isn't gonna do shit like that now that they're officially together.

Yeah it kinda sucks to go home with a mega case of blue balls every night, but he's made enough mistakes in his life (and will probably make a lot more) but he doesn't want one of them to be hurting Rachel. And maybe that makes him a little bit of a wimp 'cause in some ways he's kinda turning into Finn. But he can still beat the shit outta anyone who accuses him of being one, so it's cool. Enough. Whatever.

He shuts his locker and runs out of the locker room and onto the field so he's not late for practice.

* * *

It doesn't take him nearly as long as he thought it would to get into her pants. Not that he's complaining because the chick's got a vice grip on the rest of his life, so might as well add his dick to the mix. And okay, so she's not overly experienced (or, like, at all) but she's a quick fucking learner and more than willing to pick up on new things, so he can't really nitpick too much. And he'd been _totally_ right about her ability to use her mouth for more than singing and talking his ears off, so that's another plus. He knows it probably won't be long until she turns into a total _freak._ And he can't fucking wait.

And shit these thoughts are making him hard, so he calls her up to tell her he's coming over. Then he hangs up just 'cause he knows it'll piss her off. And that usually works out to his benefit. He smirks to himself as he makes his way to the garage.

When she opens the door and before she can lay into him about hanging up on her, he ravishes her mouth. And it's great 'cause by the time she unwinds her legs from around his hips and her breathing sort of returns to normal, he knows she isn't gonna yell at him anymore. In fact, her fingers are playing with the buckle of his belt when she asks gruffly, "What are your plans for the day?"

He grins and pushes her back against the counter. He whispers hotly against her ear. "Honestly. I came here to fuck you 'til it hurts, babe."

He feels her tremble a little, but there's a dark glint in her eyes when he nods and he decides he might honestly love this girl. He swoops her up and carries her into her bedroom where he can hardly get his pants off fast enough.

Eight hours later, when he knows her dads will be home within probably forty minutes, he reaches over for his boxers. She whimpers at the loss of contact and Puck really can't help the self-satisfied male smile from forming. "How you feelin' babe? Sore?"

Rachel snorts a little. And she _is_ sore. But it's the good kind of sore. The right kind. But there's no way she's going to admit it; she doesn't need to inflate his ego anymore. Instead of saying anything, she just sits up and presses herself against his back, kissing the nape of his neck.

And he can't help himself, he groans. Shit. "You think we can get in another go before your dads get home and kill me for corrupting your innocence?" Because he kind of _has_ corrupted her innocence. But damn, he'd be lying if he said he didn't _love_ it. In fact, it's one of his new favorite pastimes.

She just laughs and pulls him back, proving that yes, they indeed _can_ get in another round before her fathers return.

* * *

They dated before, she knows. But it was different then. They were both just pretending then; trying to fill the void someone else was leaving in their heart. And this time?

Well, this time she thinks this really could be it. He still makes jokes at her expense and she still tells him he's a juvenile delinquent. But it doesn't stop them from spending free hours wrapped in each other or going on real, _actual_ dates now that Noah will admit that's what they are.

"Do you miss him?" he asks her. And Rachel feels like the roles are reversed because usually she asks the questions and he finds the way to deflect them.

She smiles a little. "We'll always be friends. And somewhere deep down inside he'll always be the boy I cared about first." She turns to look at him seriously. "It doesn't mean he's still the boy I care about most." She presses a kiss to his mouth. "All right?"

He leans back on his hands a little. He'd remembered their first (non) date and figured he when he made his confessions, it should be some sort of mirror to that moment. It pisses him off that he actually put that much thought into the whole thing, but there's nothing he can do about it.

They're sitting on a blanket up on his roof. It took a lot of coaxing to get her up here, but when she finally obliged, even she had admitted how "aesthetically pleasing" it is up here. He looks up at the stars, pointing skyward. "See those few right there? That bunch?" She nods. "They look like rabbits fucking."

She rolls her eyes. Leave it up to Noah to create a romantic setting and still allude to basic carnal desires of mammals. She points to another bunch. "That looks like me," she says matter-of-factly. And he doesn't know where this is going, but he does find it kinda funny that she can parallel herself to anything. "See? I'm up on stage singing to an adoring audience. And that's you right there, in the front row. Showing your undying love and support. I mean, if you want to." She bites her lip and turns toward him.

And fuck she totally just said the _l_ word and he can't help it. It just comes out. "Of course I do. I will. I fucking love you, babe. You're like the most epicest person ever. Anyone who ever gives you any shit, I'll knock them the fuck out. No one fucks with you anymore, got that? You're one of the greatest people in the whole stupid world, and I'll beat anyone who says otherwise."*

She doesn't say anything. _Fuck._ This is embarrassing. Is she _crying?_ What the fuck. He sighs. What a disaster. But before he can get up and leave, she pulls on his arm and clings to him tightly. "I love you too, Noah." It's soft and she says it a little teary, but the point is that she _did_ say it. And now it's not embarrassing. It's just…the way it should be.

"Yeah?" he asks, just to be sure.

"Yes," she affirms. "Even if epicest isn't a word."

He grunts some form of laughter. 'Cause only Rachel would point out that he made up a word when he confessed his love for her (which is crazy, he admits. But what's that saying? The heart wants what the heart wants. And he knows it's not just bullshit).

"It really is a beautiful night," she says, climbing into his lap. "Especially from up here."

He plays with her hair because even though it's a girly thing to do, it just comes naturally now, so he does it anyway. "So I did okay?"

"You did wonderfully, Noah. You did perfect."

And he smiles 'cause that's kinda how he feels right now. Perfect.

* * *

_*I didn't really come up with that part. I stole/re-worded something that was said to me by a really awesome person._

So, how was my first Puckleberry story? Reviews = love and are much appreciated.

_Thanks! ^^ _


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